


Everything

by iriswests



Series: Bane & Santiago International [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Depressive Episode, F/F, M/M, Self-Loathing, Wedding, but lots and lots of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:05:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iriswests/pseuds/iriswests
Summary: Raphael learns that he's not as alone as he thinks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> forgive any typos, my loves. i'm not in the right mind to look over it. but i hope you enjoy it despite this.

The clock is ticking loudly, and it’s taking everything in Raphael not to complain about it.

It’s been brought to his attention (by a taller man who knows everything about him, with glasses and a ridiculous smile) that he is – the slightest bit _picky_ , with things that are “marginally out of his control”. He’s been told that not _everyone_ can clean things just the way Raphael cleans them, or organize things just the way Raphael likes them organized, and – this, he’s only recently found out – not everyone checks their door knob five times to make sure it’s locked before leaving home.

So he’s not going to complain about the small discrepancy in the ticking of the clock (the battery must be wavering) because that’s just not something he does anymore, Simon, thank you.

“You look a little uncomfortable, Raphael,” Doctor Richardson is looking at him with something resembling amusement. “Is there something you want to talk about today?”

“No,” Raphael lies smoothly. He’s become a professional at lying in his sessions by now. “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”

Richardson sighs. “We’ve talked about this,” she raises an eyebrow at Raphael. “You don’t ask _me_ how I’m doing. We’re not making small talk.”

The first couple of times, she’d let Raphael do it. Said she understood he needed to in order to get comfortable. But now, after so many years, she’s not putting up with it anymore – now she knows it’s only an attempt to steer the conversation away from him when he’s trying not to bring something up.

“Is this how you treat your friends, as well?” Raphael hums, glancing at the ticking clock. It must be at least two minutes behind now. “You must be quite a hit at parties.”

Doctor Richardson laughs – her laugh is something pleasant, joyous, as if she doesn’t spend every moment of every day listening to other people’s problems. How does she do it, Raphael wonders? How can she go home every day and have a peaceful slumber at night, when Raphael still fidgets and wakes up several times and the only problems haunting his head are his own?

“You’ve gotten _funnier_ , I see,” Richardson jots something down on her clipboard. Raphael tries not to let it bother him. “Looking to switch professions? Comedian, perhaps?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Raphael sniffs. “Comedy is a fleeting market. Not worth the investment, not worth the _time_. There is more of a chance of becoming a famous actor than there is a comedian, did you know?” he shakes his head. “Anyone who wants to venture into that path is delusional, and anyone who makes it as one nowadays is simply a fluke.”

Richardson hums. “Amy Schumer?”

“A _distasteful_ fluke,” Raphael rolls his eyes. “Simon has quite an opinion.”

“Yes, Simon,” Richardson smiles. “And how is your boyfriend, Raphael?”

Raphael tries to hide his fidgeting. “He is well, thank you,” he clears his throat. He doesn’t like talking about Simon. No, that is a lie in and of itself – he loves talking about Simon. If he could introduce the world to Simon, he would. He would talk about the man for as long as they let him, tell them what he knows, tell them what he sees. He loves him, he loves him, he truly loves him.

But talking about him in his therapy sessions seems cheap. A ploy. He knows it’s not – it’s a ridiculous notion, as he is meant to talk about his life in these sessions and Simon is perhaps the biggest part of his life – but sometimes, it almost feels like sharing him. And sometimes, Richardson tries to turn him into an instrument, something to help fiddle his mental health along, and that is not what Simon is to Raphael.

Simon and Raphael’s problems must stay separate, at all times. There is one, and then there is the other. He is carefully to navigate through them carefully, much like he does not let his food touch. If one touches the other, the feat is over, it’s ruined – Simon has already seen far too much of his illness. Raphael is determined to keep any further viewing to a minimum.

Simon does not deserve such a – disturbed man. He will realize that, sooner or later. Raphael is trying to prolong this realization, like the selfish bastard that he is.

“Didn’t you mention you were attending a wedding with him next weekend?” Richardson asks, voice patient as always.

Raphael nods. This he can talk about. “Magnus and Alec,” he smiles, almost without realizing. “I am very happy for them. This has been a long time coming.”

“I know,” Richardson agrees. She must. She’s known about them as long as Raphael has, after all. “Do you feel like you’ll be able to get there?”

Raphael looks at Richardson, straight in the eye. Sometimes, he forgets she’s shrinking him. Sometimes, that’s simply easier. “I don’t know,” he shifts his weight from one leg to another. “I’m taking it one day at a time.” A lie. But definitely something Richardson would like to hear.

He’s right – she smiles. “That’s good,” she nods, jots something down in her notes again. That makes Raphael uncomfortable, angry; she has a manila folder on Raphael, perhaps more than one, filled with notes after notes and it irritates him, to think that his life can fit in the span of a couple of pages; that his problems can be sealed and locked away so easily.

Richardson stops writing, as if she can hear Raphael’s private thoughts. She hums. “Do you think Simon will be upset if you don’t go to the wedding?”

Oh, yes. Raphael is careful to keep his expression even. “No,” he lies. “He’s a good man. He will be understanding, if it comes down to it.”

Richardson looks at him. “Yes, he will,” she says, with something like conviction. Almost as if she doesn’t believe Raphael believes himself, and she’s trying to convince him. Typical. Sometimes, Raphael wonders if she can read his mind. “Will you talk to him about your concerns?”

Raphael once told Simon that his depression is a voice in his head. Sometimes, it lets him get through his day quietly. Other times, it’s deafening. It’s mocking. It’s tiring. Sometimes he cannot do things. Simon said he understood.

Raphael has never told Simon that it’ll also convince him to stay inside the house and forget about everything and everyone. It will convince him his medication is unnecessary and his life not worth living. It will convince him he is a burden.

He doesn’t tell Simon that his depression makes him feel as if he is nothing.

Raphael forces a smile. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I?”

\--

The days are long, often.

Simon will run his fingers through Raphael’s hair and whisper soft things, many of which Raphael will forget in the morning. He won’t force Raphael to eat, but he will voice his worry about it, and Raphael’s sheer force of will is the only thing keeping him from starving. He pushes forward for Simon. He would never push forward for himself – but at the bottom of the barrel, deep under the mountain of darkness, there is a small glimmer of hope, illuminated by Simon. One that helps him push, and push, and push.

Three days before the wedding, he is lying on the couch, back pressed to Simon’s chest. They are watching a wretched reality show about cupcakes.

“This is far more dramatic than it has any right to be,” Raphael frowns at the television. “It is clearly edited to look as if they’re angrier at each other than they really are.”

Simon laughs. “Duh,” Raphael can’t see him, but he can feel him rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be any fun if they never fought, Raph.”

Raphael scoffs. “You would still watch it,” he sniffs. “You are incredibly strange like that.”

“You’re not wrong,” Simon admits, and he sounds happy about the fact. Raphael cannot stand how much he loves him. “But not everyone is like me. Drama is what keeps people engaged.”

“People are stupid,” Raphael huffs.

“Yes, honey,” Simon deadpans.

Raphael’s fingers twitch. He immediately feels Simon’s lips against the back of his head.

“So,” he starts, and Raphael already doesn’t like where this conversation is headed. _So_ is the word Simon chooses to start conversations that are uncomfortable for the both of them – he hasn’t figured out this pattern, but Raphael surely has, and he cannot stand knowing beforehand whether or not a conversation will be unpleasant. “I talked to Magnus at work today.”

“You usually do,” Raphael keeps his eyes glued to the television. His back is tense.

“Yep,” Simon nods so erratically Raphael feels wind from him. “Anyway, he asked – uh, he had some interesting things to say when I told him you’d chosen not to go to the bachelor party.”

Magnus’s bachelor party was tonight. Tomorrow is Alec’s. Then they would spend the day before their wedding apart, recuperating from their hangovers and wishing it was tomorrow.

That is what Magnus had told Raphael, anyway.

Raphael told Simon this morning that he would not be attending the party. When Simon asked why, Raphael had smiled sadly and told him today was a day in which the voice was particularly loud. Simon had asked no more questions.

Raphael doesn’t say anything. Magnus has always been kind and understanding – Magnus has known Raphael through his darkest periods, and vice versa. But Magnus – has a different way of dealing with his problems. It affects him in different ways. _No two mental illnesses are alike_ , Richardson once told him. _You may deal with it differently. He may fight it differently. It does not make your illnesses any less real._

Still, sometimes it feels – like a competition, with Magnus. Not in the victorious sense, but in the ferocious sense; who can fight it more aggressively? Who can help the other the most?

“Was he bothered?” Raphael finally asks, knowing the answer.

Simon hesitates. “No,” he lies. He has always been a terrible liar.

“Right,” Raphael tuts. “He was angry.”

Simon pauses. “Maybe a little,” Simon doesn’t always shield Raphael from the truth. He appreciates it. “But I mean – he thinks his best man bailed on him. He just doesn’t know what you’re going through.”

“He does,” Raphael corrects. Simon is silent.

“He knows?” Simon shifts behind him, a clear indication for Raphael to move. This conversation is now happening face-to-face, Raphael realizes as he sits his back against the couch. He looks at Simon evenly. Simon looks shocked.

“I met Magnus in a support group, years and years ago,” Raphael doesn’t go into specifics. He figures Simon can fill in the blanks for himself. “We both needed it, at the time. We shared stories. We shared an illness. We became friends.”

Simon stares at Raphael. His expression shifts from shock to anger. “And he’s still angry?” Simon’s fists clench. “He knows what you’re going through, and he still has the _audacity_ —”

“He is not angry that I’m missing the party,” Raphael interrupts, placing a placating hand around Simon’s fist. “He is angry that I’m feeling this way.”

Simon gapes. “That’s even worse,” he sputters.

Raphael smiles crookedly. “Not at me,” he tries again. “He is not angry at me. He is angry at this – thing,” his lips twitch. “At the fact that it’s hindering me.”

Simon shakes his head passionately. His hair is fluffy. “I don’t _care_ what he’s angry about, I care that he’s angry at all,” his hands unclench and he wraps his fingers around Raphael’s. In the background, the two bakers are making up. “There’s, like, a million things wrong and unfair about your situation. But being angry at it is not a solution, and it won’t – it won’t make it go away,” Simon’s jaw flexes. It’s distractingly attractive. “He doesn’t get to be angry. Shouldn’t – shouldn’t he, of all people, get it?”

Raphael squeezes Simon’s hand, then uses his free one to caress the side of his lover’s face. “Magnus’s personality – his entire sense of self – is quite different from my own,” he explains. “I often think about how if circumstance hadn’t brought us together, we most certainly would not be friends today.”

“And?” Simon prompts, not unkindly.

“ _And_ ,” Raphael continues. “He deals with his illness quite differently. He gets angry at it. He does not yield to it. He refuses to accept it as a part of him – but rather, as apart from him. They are not the same. He fights it aggressively, the same way you would a physical illness.” Raphael takes a deep breath, strokes Simon under his eyes.

“I, on the other hand, am entirely made up of my symptoms. I don’t know where they end and where I begin. It’s a voice,” he reminds Simon, bringing Simon’s hand to the side of his forehead. “I do not get angry. I become compliant. I have learned to let it take its course. It will hinder me for some time, but I will always come back,” he leans forward to touch his forehead with Simon’s. “To you.”

Simon looks ill. Raphael worries he has upset him.

“That is why Magnus is angry,” he quickly attempts to rectify the situation. “He doesn’t understand that my illness works differently than his. And that’s okay,” he smiles softly. “His anger comes from a place of love. I don’t begrudge him for it.”

Simon swallows audibly. He places his other hand to the other side of Raphael’s face, cradling it. “He doesn’t get to be angry at how you deal with your illness,” Simon’s voice is unwavering, strong. It leaves no room for argument. “If you can understand him, he should understand you.”

Raphael is not angry at Magnus. Magnus is not angry at Raphael. Magnus is angry at the world. Magnus is angry that his best friend cannot show up to his bachelor party because his best friend has become compliant to an illness that ruins lives. Magnus is angry at a depression that has consumed him.

But Magnus has his own Simon, in the form of Alec Lightwood – and the same way Simon can tell him apart, he knows Alec can tell Magnus apart.

So Magnus may be angry now, but Alec is his lifeline the same way Simon is Raphael’s – and so they both come back to this, and they realize there is no time to be angry or resentful. Life is fleeting, and so are their minds. Whether it’s a separate entity or not, there is no time to waste giving in. Not faced with the love they both know they don’t deserve.

Simon does not understand this. But that’s okay.

Raphael leans forward and silently asks for a kiss. Simon, understanding as always, complies.

His lips are soft and taste of everything Raphael has ever wanted. He tilts his head and kisses him more, and more, and more.

Simon brings him closer and they’re pressed so close Raphael forgets they were ever apart.

“I love you,” Simon mutters against Raphael’s lips. Raphael smiles.

“And I love you,” he whispers in return, and Simon swallows his words in another kiss.

\--

The day of the wedding, Raphael is feeling optimistic. He manages to get ready and get Simon ready—

“I swear if you make me switch ties _one more time_ , Raph—”

—and after about the seventh tie, they’re in the car and on their way to the venue. Raphael has to be there far earlier than the rest of the party, as best man, and even if he didn’t have to be, he’s never once been late to an affair. Ever. Simon knows this, as Simon has been the person who has scheduled his appointments for over four years and made sure he’s gotten to them on what Raphael deems to be “on time”, which is about an hour before they’re actually to start.

Simon adjusts his tie in the car. Raphael lets him, even though he knows his tie is impeccably straight and Simon’s only doing it out of nerves. “Do you think Alec’ll smile?”

Raphael looks at him. “At his own wedding?” Raphael deadpans. “Perhaps, yes.”

Simon smooths out Raphael’s tie one last time, a crooked smile on his lips. “I only ask because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.”

Raphael chuckles. “Many could argue the same about me.”

“What a shame for those people,” Simon hums, running his thumb over Raphael’s bottom lip. “It’s a wonderful smile.”

Raphael almost doesn’t want to give Simon the satisfaction, but, as is usual, he does, anyway. He smiles.

Simon laughs. “There it is.”

“I hate you, sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” Simon kisses him quickly, quietly. The driver pulls over, indicating their arrival. “Now hurry up,” he pats Raphael on the shoulder softly. “You don’t want to be late.”

Raphael looks at the time. They’re three hours early.

\--

The ceremony is beautiful. There were tears. None were Raphael’s, but that’s mostly because he’s never seen Alec Lightwood cry before, so he was too busy being mesmerized by the single tear that rolled down his cheeks as Magnus dramatically proclaimed his handwritten vows.

At one point, he made eye contact with Simon, who smiled so brightly at him from his seat Raphael felt like he’d been blinded. He almost left his place right then and there to kiss the smile away.

The party is now underway, and Simon’s gone off to infiltrate the buffet. Raphael’s standing off to the side, watching people sway to the music, eyeing Alec from afar. He looks uncharacteristically happy. His eyes are shining and his smile is bright, his posture not as rigid as it usually is. It seems as if he’s been waiting for this day more than any other day, and now that it’s finally here, he’s allowed himself some peace. Raphael thinks that must be nice.

“Hi there,” his thoughts are interrupted by a sweet, familiar voice. The smile that curves his lips is automatic as he turns to face Lydia.

“Hello,” he greets. Lydia hugs him gently and presses a swift kiss to his cheek. Raphael thinks she smells nice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“You keep dodging my calls,” Lydia teases, and Raphael thinks the fact that he does not blush shamefully is a win. He’s not done it because of Lydia, but rather, the feelings Lydia brings to light in Raphael – Lydia’s conversations with him are always honest and one-sided. She never seems to mind; it bothers Raphael. Sometimes, he’ll share a small tidbit with her, about his feelings, about his past, and it seems to fuel her for months afterwards. These, Raphael thinks, are his moments of weakness – the last thing he wants is someone else entwined in his problems, someone else to worry about someone who does not necessarily deserve it. These are the moments fueled by the small glimmer of hope that lives in him; the one the voice does not allow to grow.

“I am sorry about that,” Raphael says, sincerely. “I have been busy.”

“Simon has apologized for you,” Lydia waves him off. She seems genuine. Raphael hates himself for ever ignoring such a kind soul. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. Entrepreneur, madly successful, disgustingly rich, in love. Those things can keep any man busy.” She’s teasing, Raphael can tell. Still, the words sting a little.

He doesn’t let it show. “And you?” he asks. “How have you been keeping busy?”

“Saving lives, Raph,” she smiles. “Or, trying to.”

Raphael nods. “I’ve always admired your profession. And you, of course.”

Lydia reaches for Raphael’s arm, and squeezes. “For every life I’ve saved, there’s one I haven’t been able to reach.”

A knot forms in Raphael’s throat.

“But I don’t live regretting it,” she explains. “We both know where that gets us,” she raises her eyebrows. “Instead, I focus on the countless of people I’ve saved who have gone on to do great things.”

“Oh?” Raphael smiles slightly at that. “Like who?”

“I saved a twelve year old kid who was almost beaten to death by some asshole classmates for being gay,” she tells him. Raphael’s heart fills with pity and hatred all at once. “Had my team not gotten there in time, he might not have made it. After he made a full recovery – which took forever, mind you – he went on to establish his school’s first Gay-Straight Alliance, and his story touched so many people he’s been out traveling the country, talking to other kids his age about tolerance and self-acceptance.”

Raphael is impressed. “Twelve, you say?”

“Twelve!” Lydia laughs. “He’s been through hell and back, and that kid still _forgave_ the kids who assaulted him,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “There are good people out there, Raph.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “There are.”

“Then there are the smaller victories,” Lydia continues. “I saved a seventy-five-year-old lady living alone with her cocker spaniel – Lady, she named her, which, of course – who’d fallen down the stairs. Broke her hip, her leg, her head – almost bled out – but we got there just in time, and she thanked me from the bottom of her heart when she saw me again. She said she refused to go until her dog did,” she smiles fondly. “Says Lady was the only thing that kept her tethered to this world when her husband died, and she’s afraid that now she’s the only thing keeping Lady here, as well.”

Raphael knows what Lydia’s doing. She must be talking to Simon. Still, he’s grateful for the attempt – and he would never begrudge her for it. “Sounds like you’ve had an eventful couple of months,” he allows.

Lydia nods. “Then there’s you, of course,” she bumps her shoulder with Raphael’s. “Your life is the most important one I’ve saved.”

Raphael looks at her. His heart feels full. He basks in the feeling, short-lived as it is. “I am thankful, you know.”

Lydia laughs quietly. “You’ve said that before,” she squeezes Raphael’s elbow. “I’m not looking for another thank you. I’m just saying,” she tilts her head to the side. “Don’t forget that your life’s important. To a lot of people. To me.”

Raphael looks at her. He does not have any words to exchange for hers. It seems impossible to find appropriate ones.

He thinks Lydia can tell, because she lets go of his elbow and looks across the room. “I’m happy, you know.”

Raphael swallows. “Oh?”

“Yes!” she laughs. “I am. Even after everything – his death, the things I see on the job – I come home to her,” she nods at the general direction of Alec’s sister – Isabelle, as Simon’s called her before – “And I’m happy. I’m lucky to have her.”

“I know the feeling well,” he finds Simon across the room.

Lydia is quiet for a moment. “What could Magnus possibly be talking to Simon about?”

Raphael’s brows furrow. For a moment, he’s unsure what Lydia’s referring to, but then he sees it – Simon’s posture is tense as it hardly ever is, and Magnus is leaning casually against the buffet table, lips moving quickly and skillfully. He’s not looking directly at Simon, nor Simon at him, but it’s obvious to the trained eye they’re having a conversation.

“A great question,” Raphael mutters. “If you’ll excuse me?” he looks at Lydia.

She nods. “Of course,” she raises her index finger before Raphael can take his leave. “You’ll save me a dance?”

“Of course,” he parrots, then swiftly makes his way across the room towards Simon and his best friend.

He presses a hand to the small of Simon’s back. Simon flinches in surprise, before looking at Raphael. He looks guilty for only a moment, eyes flickering to Magnus, before the look is replaced with one of fondness.

Raphael is officially suspicious.

“Are you harassing my boyfriend, Magnus?” He makes sure to keep his voice light. Unknowing. He’s perfected the specific octave, by now, in his sessions with Richardson. It fools both Magnus and Simon, if the drop of their shoulders is any indication.  

“Of course not,” Magnus replies, swiftly and confidently as ever. “We’re having an enlightening conversation about the wine.”

“Oh, really?” Raphael looks at Simon, eyebrows rising. “I had no idea you were a wine connoisseur, Simon.”

Simon looks at him evenly. “I’m not,” he replies, and the lie seems to dance off his tongue so easily Raphael wonders what else Simon has lied to him about before. “He’s the one doing most of the talking. I’m just trying to get my hands on some of that lobster over there.” He gestures towards the end of the buffet.

Magnus grins, and it’s effective, Raphael will give him that. They are both businessmen – Raphael has seen this side of Magnus. He’s a fool to think he does not know the difference between his real smile and his business smile. Still, he acts fooled.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Magnus waves a hand. “I _must_ find my husband. It’s far too early in the night for me to lose him already.” He winks at Raphael. “Will you dance with me later?”

“Absolutely not,” Raphael smiles easily. Magnus laughs, and he leaves.

Raphael looks at Simon. He rubs his back, where his hand has not left its place since he arrived. “Are you alright?”

Simon looks at Raphael, brows furrowed. “Of course I am,” he smiles. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Raphael glances at Magnus. Simon seems to understand – his face clears.

“Oh, stop it, he was just pestering me about the wine,” he takes a hold of Raphael’s hand and squeezes. “Have you seen Lydia? She looks like a supermodel.”

Raphael takes note of the quick subject change. Files it away for later.

It’s a wedding, after all. He’s feeling – not great, but _okay_ , and he should bask in the feeling as much as he can. He does not have this time promised. It comes and goes, and he knows he’s lucky when it’s here.

So he does not push the subject further. “She looks absolutely beautiful, yes,” he nods. “So does her girlfriend – Isabelle, right?”

“Yep,” Simon smiles. “The better Lightwood, in my opinion,” he winks. Raphael smiles. Oh, he loves this man. He may be lying, and Raphael may not deserve him, but he loves him.

“I’m partial to Alec myself,” he teases. Simon scoffs.

“You just haven’t met Izzy yet,” he reminds him. Raphael nods. He knows he hasn’t. She must be a great deal, however, to be talked about so highly. To make Lydia so happy. He has not met Isabelle Lightwood, no, but he is fond of her already.

He doesn’t say any of this. Instead, he takes Simon’s hand. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Simon perks, tilting his head. “To Frank Sinatra?” He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you want to be this cheesy, you big old sap?”

“Absolutely,” Raphael says. Simon laughs quietly, but takes Raphael’s hand anyway and follows him to the dance floor.

“You know, I wouldn’t walk away from a buffet full of expensive food for just anyone,” Simon tells Raphael. Raphael hums, swaying to the music with Simon.

“I must be a very important man to you, then,” Raphael points out.

Simon pulls Raphael closer. “Someone told me once I was important,” he says. “Do you feel important, too?”

Raphael looks into Simon’s eyes.

No. But, in moments like these, when he allows himself to drown in Simon’s eyes, he feels safe. Away from the voice in his head, away from the darkness that surrounds him. Not important – but insignificant, compared to the greatness the engulfs Simon, as a person, as his lover.

“With you?” Raphael presses his forehead against Simon’s. He prepares to lie. “Always.”

\--

Work does not stop, despite Magnus Bane being married.

He’s off on his honeymoon, so Raphael does not have the luxury to drown in his sorrows, or to think about why Simon lied to him at the wedding. He only has time to think about his clients, and to drown himself in paperwork instead, and to allow Simon to stuff his face full of medication and food every once in a while.

Simon is in the bathroom when Isabelle Lightwood walks through the elevator door. Raphael happens to look up at the same time she walks in, and she smiles at him. Her smile is bright and pretty – Raphael thinks that all he needs to see is her smile to know why Lydia is in love with her.

Still, he’s confused as to why she’s here, and how she managed to get through without security first calling Simon to see if she was allowed – but then again, she’s Alec Lightwood’s sister, and though the Lightwoods are not as big a name was the Banes, they’re certainly an entity in and of themselves.

Besides, Raphael thinks it hard to look at Isabelle Lightwood and not believe she is important. She carries herself as such, and most likely speaks as such.

She gestures towards Raphael’s door, silently asking for permission to enter. Raphael, in his confusion, allows her.

She walks in and her smile widens. “Hello,” she greets him. Raphael nods slowly.

“Hello,” he responds. He gestures towards his bathroom. “Ah, Simon is in the bathroom, I’m afraid. If you’d like to wait for him.”

Isabelle shakes her head. “Oh, I’m not here for Simon,” she says. Still, she looks over at the bathroom door, and calls out, “Hello, Simon!”

There is a pause. “Izzy?” Simon’s voice is heard behind the bathroom door. “What are you doing in Raphael’s office?”

Raphael groans. Simon has no sense of boundaries.

Neither, it seems, does Isabelle Lightwood. “Just here to talk to your boyfriend,” she calls back. “You okay in there?”

“Just peachy,” Simon calls back. “Er, carry on.”

Isabelle looks back at Raphael, amused. “He’s adorable.”

“He is certainly something else,” Raphael glares at his bathroom door. He looks back at Isabelle. “How may I help you, miss Lightwood?”

“Oh, stop, Izzy’s fine,” she waves him off. Raphael clears his throat. He does not feel comfortable calling someone he’s officially just met by a nickname.

Isabelle seems to understand this. “Or Isabelle,” she amends. Raphael nods.

“How may I help you, Isabelle?” Her name tastes strange on his tongue.

“Simon says your lunch hour is usually around this time, yes?” Isabelle gestures at the clock hanging over Raphael’s wall. He looks over at it – sees it’s past noon. He supposes it is. Simon knows more about time than Raphael.

“I suppose,” he replies.

“Would you like to join me for lunch today?” she asks.

Raphael blinks. “I usually have lunch with Simon,” he explains. It’s the only way he gets food down his throat without actually having to seize his work.

“I know,” Isabelle smiles kindly. “But the day outside is nice, despite the cold, and I’ve been wanting to take a walk around the park for so long,” she shrugs. “Thought we could get some food truck grub and take a walk?”

Raphael is absolutely baffled. She’s speaking to him as if they’ve been friends for years. “Ah,” he says, eloquently.

“Go!” Simon calls through the bathroom. “I might be a while.” A pause. “It’s those breakfast burritos I ate.”

“Oh, Simon, for heaven’s sake,” Raphael sighs. Isabelle laughs.

“Let me live!” Simon groans. “It’s a battlefield in here!”

Isabelle laughs harder. Raphael stands.

“We’re leaving,” Raphael rolls his eyes. “Do try not to stink up my bathroom.”

“No promises,” Simon calls out gleefully. Sometimes, Raphael doesn’t know how he finds himself in the middle of these conversations. He realizes, every time, that he’s often found himself in them since the day he met Simon.

Raphael gestures towards his door. “Shall we, then?”

Isabelle beams. “We shall.”

\--

Raphael had no idea food trucks sold salads. But that’s what Isabelle gets for them, and while it’s not the best salad he’s ever had, it certainly is not the worst.

Isabelle’s been talking endlessly about her yoga studio, about the type of exercises she’s done research on, about what it felt like to break away from her family’s legacy, how that’s always been Alec’s M.O., anyway, and she talks to him about Lydia, about what she’s meant to her, about how she thinks it’s strange that she found her after Lydia had, arguably, already met the love of her life – she goes on to wonder whether or not a person can have more than one great love in their lifetime, and then says she hopes they can, because that’s who Lydia is to her, and she hopes she can be that for her, too.

Raphael stops her there to tell her he believes wholeheartedly Lydia feels the same way for her as Isabelle does. She grins brightly at that.

When they reach the park, Isabelle leads him to the small lake, then sits on an empty bench near a single tree and Raphael, completely helpless, follows suit.

Finally, Raphael has to ask, “Why did you bring me out to lunch?”

Isabelle shrugs, takes a bite of her salad. “Alec talks about you more than you’d think,” she says. “He admires the hell out of you. I’ve only ever seen Magnus soften in two instances – when he looks at my brother, and when he talks about you. Simon is a special man, and he loves you more than he can put into words. And all that boy _has_ is words,” she jokes. “And Lydia – Lydia worries about your constantly. She sees herself in you, and maybe that’s why she’s always so worried.” She looks over at Raphael, who is sitting perfectly still. “Everyone important in my life seems to know you and your story. Everyone but me,” she finishes.

Raphael looks at his salad. It looks far smaller now than when he first had it in his hands. “My story is not an interesting one,” he tells her. “Nor a happy one.”

Isabelle is silent for a moment. “I wonder how a sad story is not an interesting one,” she hums. She takes another bite of her salad. Raphael doesn’t know what to say.

She is terribly perceptive, because she continues to speak, allowing Raphael an out. “You know, our dad used to bring me and Alec here, when we were younger,” she says. “He took every Sunday afternoon off just to spend a couple of hours with us. The weather didn’t matter. We would play all kinds of games. As we grew older, we stopped playing, started talking,” she pauses. “I came out to him and Alec here. I remember him holding me and promising me he loved me no matter who I chose to love.”

Raphael is quiet.

“I remember Alec followed closely afterwards. A couple of months, maybe. Came out to us in this exact same spot. And I remember my dad extending that same courtesy to him. Holding him, promising him he loved him no matter what.” She looks at the lake. “I teased him endlessly about trying to one-up me.”

Raphael’s lips twitch.

“Our mom was never as close to us as our dad was – but she’s our mom, you know? She’s our mom through and through, and even though it took her a little longer to come around to the fact that _both_ her children were gay, she eventually did. But she never spent the Sundays we did with our dad. Both Alec and I thought it was because she didn’t love us as much.” She stays quiet, then.

Raphael can’t help it. “Was it true?” He can’t imagine living life without the love of a mother. His mother’s love kept him alive for so long.

“No,” Isabelle smiles sadly at him. “It’s easy to be angry with your mom when you’re young. But as we grew older, it became clear to us who we actually spent more time with.” She crosses her legs, takes a small bite out of her salad. “Our father was a busy man, Raphael. Drowned himself in work and hardly ever saw the light of day. We have more happy memories with him than with our mother because she allowed us to spend one day out of the week alone with him,” she explains. “She allowed us to see the happier side of him, even if it meant we saw the bitter side of her,” she bites her lip. “I will always be grateful to her for that. Because those memories are all Alec and I had left when he passed.”

Raphael nods. He remembers the long article in Forbes when Robert Lightwood passed of liver cancer. He’d been dealing with it for close to a year. A great businessman, a genius mind, forever engraved into the business world. Always remembered, always important. Outlived by his wife and two children.

He died on Christmas Day.

Isabelle smiles at him. “This place is very special to me,” she continues. “It’s where a lot of monumental moments in my life happened. It’s where I came to a lot of decisions later in life.” She sighs. “It’s where I like to bring people when I want to get to know them, because it’s how they can get to know me,” she looks at Raphael. “In a way, this place _is_ me.”

Raphael’s throat is a bloody mess. Knot after knot after knot. Isabelle Lightwood is sharing her entire life with him, and he cannot get a single word out. He’s not worthy of such attention, of such a gift. He knows how hard it is to talk about one self. He’s in awe that it comes so easily to her.

“You don’t have to tell me your story now,” she finally says. Raphael’s heart breathes a sigh of relief. “But I don’t believe your story’s not an interesting one. I bet it is. I bet you’re one of the most interesting people in the world,” she smiles. “At least that’s what Simon always says.”

He swallows. “ _Gracias_ ,” he says, in his mother tongue, because it seems easier to hide behind something they both do know, something he knows they have in common.

Isabelle’s grin is loud. “¿ _De que_?” She asks.

Raphael shakes his head. “ _Por hablar_.”

Isabelle talks, as if she understands. Raphael does not have any doubt that she does. “Know your story, Raphael Santiago,” she says, squeezing his shoulder. “ _Own_ your story. Live as your true self.”

Raphael looks at her quietly. “You know,” he looks back at the lake, that holds so much more meaning for the Lightwoods than it does for him. “I’m not sure who that is.”

\--

The next day is a bad day.

\--

So is the next.

\--

Raphael has thought for a while that maybe his medications’ dosage was no longer working for him. He’s been good about ignoring it, though. Been good about convincing himself it didn’t matter, because he didn’t matter. He’s been good about lying about it.

It’s so easy to fake happy.

He’s tired of faking now, though.

\--

Simon forces him inside the shower. He doesn’t do much in it. He doesn’t remember getting out. He falls asleep again.

\--

In a moment of consciousness, he hears Simon talking desperately to someone on the phone. He thinks it’s been about two days. He tries to stay awake for Simon, but he feels his heart pull him under.

_Sleep_ , the voice says. _Forget_.

\--

Simon gets him to sit up for about an hour. He feeds him some chicken. It tastes of nothing. Raphael looks at Simon, but he can’t really see him. His vision is clouded in grey. _Run_ , he wants to tell him. _Why waste your time? Just run_.

\--

Another moment of consciousness. He hears Simon crying quietly in the bathroom.

_Oh, your fault_ , the voice says. _Your worthless fault_.

\--

In the distance, he thinks he hears his mother’s voice.

A dream, most likely.

\--

The wall has never looked more interesting.

\--

Simon holds him and talks to him. Raphael cannot feel or hear him, though.

Or maybe he does not let himself.

\--

There’s a moment where he sits up on the bed, and he thinks his sheets smell of piss. His throat is dry – his stomach rumbles. He’s hungry, he realizes. He hasn’t been hungry in a while.

He blinks harshly – the light coming from the window is blinding, and he has to hold up his hand to his eyes. Simon is not in the room, but Raphael hears him talking quietly outside the door.

Raphael tries calling for him, but his voice is rough.

“Simon?” he tries again, this time, his voice is loud enough.

Simon stops talking abruptly. He’s inside the room in a flash, looking at Raphael like he’s the first sign of life he’s seen in months.

“Hey, hi,” he throws his cell phone on the bed, then makes his way to sit next to Raphael. He runs a hand through Raphael’s hair. Raphael feels it. “Are you hungry? Do you need something?”

Raphael sees Simon in full color. “I am,” he nods. “Hungry, that is.”

Simon seems to collapse against Raphael in relief.

“Oh, okay,” he sniffles into Raphael’s neck. “Okay, good. Okay.”

Raphael wraps an arm around Simon’s back. “Okay.”

Simon sniffles again. “God,” he laughs brokenly. “Okay, yes, I’m going to make you something.”

Raphael blinks. “Don’t do _that_ ,” he clears his throat. “You’ll set my kitchen on fire.”

Simon laughs brokenly once again. Did Raphael do that?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Did I do it again?”

Simon wraps both his arms desperately around Raphael. “God, Raph, _God_ ,” he’s crying into Raphael’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me it’d gotten this bad again?”

Raphael ignores the question. “Three days?” he guessed. “Four.”

Simon pulls away, looking at Raphael in disbelief. “ _Fifteen_ ,” he tells Raphael. “Two weeks, Raph. I haven’t – haven’t been able to reach you in _two weeks_.”

No wonder he’s so tired. He hasn’t had an episode this long in – a very, very long time. Not since Simon’s birthday a couple of years back, maybe. Was that Simon’s birthday? He’d given him that dreaded G.I. Joe box set Simon keeps like a trophy in the living room.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. He is. He’s sorry he’s so useless. He’s sorry Simon has to see him like this. He’s sorry Simon can’t leave, won’t leave, because Raphael can’t ask him to. Because Raphael is so selfish.

Simon sniffles. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t _see_ —”

“I am not your _job_ , Simon,” he snaps quickly. Simon looks at him evenly.

“That is never what I mean and you know it,” Simon snaps right back, knowing Raphael’s moods by now. The irritation that comes with his episodes. They’re worse near the end.

Raphael nods. “Yes,” he replies as quietly as he can.

Simon shakes his head. “No, I – Magnus came back from his honeymoon early,” Simon wipes at his nose with his sleeve. Raphael cannot believe him. “Your mother was here for a couple of days. Did you hear her?”

Yes, for a moment, he thinks. He thought she’d been a dream. “They shouldn’t have.”

Simon scoffs. “Magnus – I tried to lie to him as long as I could, but the second he found out you hadn’t been to work, he cut his trip short.” Oh, Alec must absolutely hate Raphael. “Alec’s – been…a surprising ally,” he looks at Raphael. “He’s been very…helpful.”

Raphael can imagine. Alec’s most likely dealt with this in Magnus. He must be of great help to Simon.

“The better Lightwood?”

“Not even close,” Simon rolls his eyes. “Your mom had to go back to work – she only had so many paid vacation days, but she’s been a wreck,” Simon swallows.

Oh, he’s a worthless human being.

Raphael looks at his hands.

Simon seems to switch gears immediately. “Sorry, Jesus, you don’t need—” Raphael can feel him shake his head. “It’s just been so long since I’ve had a conversation with you, I—” Simon stands from the bed, reaches for his cell phone. “Let me order some food,” he says. “I’m gonna order you some food, and then – what else do you need?”

Raphael pauses. “A shower,” he decides.

Simon nods. “We’ll get in the shower. We can watch a movie, we can – let’s take it slow, alright?”

Raphael looks at him. He nods.

“Alright.”

\--

It takes a while, but Raphael comes back to work.

Simon slaps an index card on his desk the minute he sits down.

“What did my desk do to you?” he asks, looking up at his boyfriend. Simon looks determined.

“It’s your appointment with Doctor Richardson,” he says. “It’s on Friday.”

Raphael furrows his brows. “My next appointment isn’t for another two months.”

“She made an exception,” Simon tells him. “I told her what happened and she wants to see you.”

Raphael feels a little out of sorts. It’s not that he doesn’t understand why Simon’s done what he’s done, but it still feels a little bit like he went behind his back. Still, he’s not stupid. He knows Simon’s known Doctor Richardson since before they started their relationship. Since before Raphael was this stupidly in love with him.

“Simon—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he holds up a hand. “You’re going.”

Raphael grimaces.

Simon leans down, looks him straight in the eyes. “Promise me?”

Raphael says nothing.

“If you won’t talk to me, then please, God, talk to her, talk to _someone_ ,” he pleads. “Please?”

Raphael sighs. He nods.

“Alright,” he takes the card in his hand. “I’ll go.”

\--

Friday comes and goes.

\--

Raphael knows the minute the door of the house slams that Simon’s talked to Richardson.

He knew this was coming – he’d been preparing for this all day.

He missed his appointment because it’s not worth fighting something that he deserves. He’s going to tell Simon as much today.

He’s finally going to stop being selfish.

Raphael has seen the pain he’s caused, he’s seen it firsthand, in the shape of Simon’s tears, Magnus’s unanswered emails, his mother’s voicemails. He knows what he’s doing. He needs people to stop worrying about him. So the only answer, the voice tells him, is to push them all away.

Simon makes a beeline for the kitchen, where Raphael is making tea. “Hello,” Raphael greets him. “Would you like some tea?”

Simon is livid. “No, I don’t want some tea,” he slams his keys on the counter. Raphael looks at them. “What the hell, Raphael? You _promised_ me.”

Raphael looks at him. “I did not,” he reminds Simon. “You said please, and then I said I’ll go.”

Simon gapes at him. “Don’t make this about a fucking _technicality_ ,” he throws his hands up desperately in the air. Raphael feels it. Raphael feels it in his bones. Raphael is so, so sorry. “I’m trying to help you! You can’t just think this is going to go away if you don’t talk to someone!”

“It’s useless, Simon,” he rolls his eyes for good measure. “Richardson hears what she wants to hear.”

“No,” Simon shakes his head. “You just tell her what you think she wants to hear. And where did that leave you, hm?” he gestures to the house, as if it’s been a prison. Raphael can see how Simon feels this way. “Here. Here, here, here, where we are right now.”

“What is she going to fix?” Raphael laughs bitterly. “Things that are a part of me? The things that make you angry?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t say you are not angry,” Raphael warns. “I see it right now. You’re angry.”

“I’m not angry, Raphael, for fuck’s sake—”

“You are _yelling_ —”

“I’m _frustrated_!” Simon exclaims. “Okay? I’m frustrated, Jesus Christ,” Simon takes a breath. Raphael is envious. “I don’t know what to do. I _want_ you to get better, I _want_ the good days to outweigh the bad ones but the bad ones keep winning and I don’t know how to _fix it_ ,” he shakes his head, steps closer to Raphael. Raphael has to take a step back. “I don’t know how to help you anymore,” he says. His voice is quiet now. “I feel _useless_. I’m frustrated that I’m frustrated at all.”

This makes Raphael react. “You get to be frustrated, Simon,” he makes sure his voice is firm, despite it wanting to waver. “I know this is hard. I have never expected you to be complacent. I have never expected you to be happy and smile through all of this, not once. You are _allowed_ to be angry and frustrated at this situation. You don’t have to hide it.”

Simon shakes his head. “It’s what you _need_ —”

“No,” Raphael interrupts. “No, that’s not what I need. I need you in your right mind, do you understand? I need you healthy. I need you happy. I can’t bear – the thought of this taking more out of you than it is of me, I can’t bear that.”

“I’m not—”

“And perhaps,” Raphael licks his lips. “Perhaps you need a break.”

Silence. “No,” Simon snaps. “You don’t get to assume what I need the same way I don’t get to assume what you need.”

“Simon—”

“Don’t ice me out,” Simon pleads. This time, when he comes closer. Raphael is unable to step back. “We’re arguing. Couples argue. Okay, I get to be angry. Okay, I get to be frustrated. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to _leave you_.”

“You could have such a better life – a better time – how are you still with me?” Raphael cannot fathom this. “For years, you have not once left unless I have demanded it of you. Why?”

“Because I love you, you damn idiot,” Simon says tiredly. “I love you and I am not going to leave you over an argument. I am not going to give up on you just because you’re feeling guilty. I know what I’m doing. You have to trust that. You have to.” He swallows audibly. “I’m – I talk to Clary. I talk to Lydia. I talk to people about this. I have a support system. I’m not alone. I have _you_. I would never – not ever – leave you over this.” He brings a hand to the side of Simon’s face. “I love you. With or without your illness. I love every part of who you are.” Raphael can see his eyes glisten from here. He cannot stand the thought of making Simon sad. “I want to help you, Raphael,” he whispers. “But God damn it, how can I help you if you refuse to help yourself?”

Raphael swallows back his tears. The voice in his head gets louder. It’s no longer a whisper – it’s yelling, and yelling, and it forces him to say the words out loud: “I’m _nothing_ ,” he chokes on a sob. “I don’t _deserve_ to try, don’t you understand?”

Simon looks shocked. For a moment, he says nothing. Then, a single tear breaks the spell, and a thousand more begin to fall. He cradles Raphael’s head between his hands.

“Oh, but you’re everything,” Simon whispers to him, and that small glimmer of hope starts to grow. “Do you hear me? You are _everything_.”

The glimmer silences the voice. There is only light, and Simon.

Raphael breaks.

He sobs, and Simon holds onto him. Raphael cries every tear he has ever held back. Raphael cries his insecurities, he cries the whispers he hears at night. He cries, and he cries, and he cries.

Simon strokes his hair, holds him tighter. “I’m here,” he says, over and over and over. “My everything. I’m here.”

And he is.

\--

That night, Raphael thinks of all the happy memories Simon has given him.

_Those memories are all I had left_ , Isabelle had told him.

Raphael desperately wants more of them.

Permanently.

\--

At his next therapy session, Raphael talks about Simon.

Richardson looks proud, and almost knowing – like she knew this day would eventually come.

Raphael understands now that Simon and this part of him are not meant to be separate – they need to touch. They need to touch so he can begin to heal.

He needs to start caring about himself. He needs to want this.

And he wants this.

He wants to get better.

He has gotten a small taste of absolute, uninhibited happiness – and he craves it more and more every day.

So he talks about Simon. He talks about what he means to him. He talks about his insecurities. He talks about his fears. He talks about the voice, even when the voice warns him not to. He talks about the things he wants to do, the things he doesn’t.

He tells Richardson more about the ugly parts of him than he has ever told anyone, and he is proud of himself. He tells Richardson as much. She tells him she’s proud of him, too.

They change his dosage. Richardson tells him she wants to start him on a different stabilizer. They’re going to keep trying, she says. They’re going to get it right. He will not have to deal with this for the rest of his life, not if she has anything to say about it.

Raphael can’t imagine a life without medication, without the darkness.

But God, he wants it.

\--

It’s Christmas, and Magnus has thrown a party, as is true Magnus fashion.

It’s an ugly sweater party, though it’s curious to see everyone but Magnus wear an ugly sweater. When Simon mentions this to him, Magnus rolls his eyes.

“I couldn’t possibly be caught dead in one of those things,” he tells them. “It was Alec’s idea.”

Simon gapes. “He’s a dork, too,” Simon whispers dramatically to Raphael. “Have I gotten him all wrong?”

Raphael thinks so.

Magnus looks at him. There’s something quiet in his eyes. Simon excuses himself to go grill Alec. “You’ll annoy him,” Raphael warns.

Simon grins. “That’s the plan.”

He leaves him alone with Magnus, and Raphael tilts his head in acknowledgment.

“I’m sorry I missed your bachelor party,” he clears his throat. “I don’t believe I ever apologized for that.”

“You never had to,” Magnus replies quickly. “My dear, are you taking care of yourself?”

Raphael nods. “I’m starting to,” he looks at Magnus. “I think – I finally understand you,” Raphael says. “The way you fight this.”

Magnus looks at him. Then, he smiles brilliantly.

“It’s a matter of will,” he says. “I don’t mean to make it sound easy, because Lord knows it’s anything but, but as much as it’s up to the meds and the therapy and the others,” he points at Raphael’s chest. “It’s up to us, too.”

“Yes,” he looks at Simon, who is talking animatedly to an strained-looking Alec. “I see that now.”

Magnus looks over at Alec and Simon, as well. “You know, Alec likes him,” he says. “As much as he says he doesn’t. He relates to him. I know it’s a relief to have someone on his end of the spectrum for once.”

Raphael hums. “We are very lucky, aren’t we?”

Magnus chuckles. “Yes, we are.”

“Hello,” Isabelle and Lydia come up to the two of them. Magnus grins wonderfully at them.

“My lady loves!” he hugs them. “Thank you for coming!” He frowns. “How do you make those hideous things look good on you?”

Lydia grins. “Some people have just got it,” she shrugs.

“Oh, there is no argument on my part,” Magnus nods. Something catches his eye at the end of the room. “Oh, goodness, if you’ll excuse me, I have to save two poor souls from meeting under the mistletoe.”

He leaves. Raphael greets both Lydia and Isabelle with a hug, mostly because they leave him with no other choice.

“How are you?” Lydia asks, squeezing his arm.

“I’m well, thank you,” Raphael says, and for once, he means it. “I’m working on it. I’m sorry – I will start returning your phone calls, this time.”

Lydia beams. “I know,” she looks emotional. No matter how Raphael is feeling, he doesn’t think he can handle emotions well. “Oh, God, okay, I’m moving along,” she kisses Raphael’s cheek. “I have to go find Simon to let him marvel at how good I look wearing a reindeer’s face.”

She kisses Isabelle and makes way through the crowd, towards Simon and Alec.

Raphael turns to Isabelle. “Hello,” he greets once again, and Isabelle smiles softly.

“Hola,” she greets.

“I – I know this must be hard for you,” Raphael clears his throat. “Because of your father.”

Isabelle shakes her head. “Oh, no,” she closes a hand around his wrist. “Alec and I decided long ago that Christmas is a time to celebrate his life, not mourn it. He’d have wanted that.”

Raphael nods. “I went to one of his seminars, once,” he recalls. “When I was younger, and thought about building my empire. He spoke – like a true businessman, but more so, like a kind person,” he swallows. “He taught me that you can still find good in such a terrible career path. He warned us that we would find pariahs amongst our peers, but once in a while, we’d find the good people,” he looks at Magnus. “To stick with those. Those would get us the farthest.”

Isabelle looks at him. Then her smile turns softer than before. “And that you had to fight until your very last breath to keep your integrity, because without it,” Isabelle shrugs her shoulders dramatically. “What else did you have?”

Raphael chuckles. “Yes,” he nods. “That’s what he said.”

“I heard it a thousand times,” Isabelle nods. “And you know – he did,” she swallows. “He fought until his very last breath. He thought he could beat the cancer. So he fought, and he fought. He fought for his life, and for that, I am thankful.” She looks curiously at Raphael. “And you, Raphael?” she asks quietly. “Will you fight until your very last breath?”

Raphael looks across the room and catches Simon’s eyes. He grins at him ecstatically, then points towards the mistletoe, silently instructing Raphael to meet him under it.

He is in love with Simon. And Simon is in love with him. And for that, he is grateful.

For that kind of life, for that kind of love, Raphael can fight.

“Yes,” he promises. “I will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this is not what i originally intended to write - but then i lost all of my original work (my own damn fault, really), and then my uncle passed away, and this came pouring out of me.
> 
> and so i dedicate this to him, who fought for his life until his very last breath. and when i said my goodbyes, he asked me to fight for mine.
> 
> te quiero, tio. and i will fight through this, and i will fight for my life.
> 
> and you, my love, my dear reader: i hope you fight for yours, too. you are everything.
> 
> happy holidays. <3


End file.
